Time
by Bag Of Badgers
Summary: Deanon. Italy has surrendered to the Allies, and Germany lets him go. M for sex and the Second World War.


Feliciano will tell him eventually.

This is what he's been saying to himself for the past two weeks. Soon, he'll tell Ludwig. Soon.

But there is no soon. Feliciano has to leave, and sooner, or he'll be trying to leave from a prisoner camp. And he can't leave without telling Ludwig why, but if he does tell, Feliciano knows Ludwig will be so angry and never want to see him again because Feliciano betrayed him, him and Kiku and Roderich and Gilbert and everybody. And Feliciano's not as stupid as he sometimes acts, he knows the war's not going well and it'll only go worse, and what if Ludwig died and the last thing Feliciano told him was-

"Italy has surrendered, Lovino and I've joined the Allies."

Oh God. Oh God no no _no_ he didn't mean for it to come out like that, not over dinner, not when they've actually got a little bit of chicken and they're almost holding hands over the table.

Except they're not almost holding hands, they are holding hands. Ludwig has wrapped his long fingers around Feliciano's should-be-soft palm. Feliciano doesn't dare to look at Ludwig's face, because he will be _so_ angry and Feliciano won't be able to bear it, he won't- oh God, he's started crying-

There's a warm hand on his face, tilting it up towards Ludwig's own. He doesn't look betrayed or angry, just exhausted (then, he's looked like that for nearly two years) and sad. When he says "I know," Feliciano starts really crying and tightens his grip on Ludwig's hand, sure that at any moment he'll pull it away and his eyes will go cold and he'll yell and- and hit and throw Feliciano out because _that's what should happen to traitors_ even if Feliciano does have good reasons for leaving. But instead Ludwig gets up and walks around to Feliciano's side of the table and stoops down next to him, folds him into a hug and Feliciano grips the back of his shirt with his free hand and sniffles "How?" into Ludwig's shoulder.

"OKW's been expecting it for at least a week. They-" Ludwig cuts off when Feliciano freezes up- if they'd expected it, then they've probably definitely already decided to arrest him and what if Ludwig does-

The arm around him tightens and Ludwig squeezes his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, they think you're in Genoa, there's a little time."

"You're n-not going to- to arrest m-me?"

"What?" Ludwig looks so confused for a second, and then even sadder. "Oh- no. _No_. God, I'd never do that- I'd- no. I won't." The _no matter what they tell me_ is clear in his voice, and Feliciano relaxes a little.

"Y-you're not mad?" Ludwig doesn't _sound_ mad, but-

"Feliciano, I wish I could go with you." They're both clinging now, all shaking shoulders and tense hands and "I wish I could, but it's too much, I can't stop this, what they're doing, I should've but I didn't and now it's too late and-" Feliciano makes _shh, shh_ noises and, still teary-eyed, guides Ludwig's head to his shoulder.

He's slipped out of his chair at some point and now they're knelt on the floor curled around each other just holding. Ludwig presses Feliciano's head to his shoulder and whispers "They'll- I'll have to invade."

"I know."

"It'll hurt." Ludwig's voice is thick and choked and sits heavy in Feliciano's chest. "I'm sorry. Can't stop it."

"I don't- it's not your fault." Feliciano squeezes his arms around Ludwig and continues, "And I'm sorry too, for- for leaving–"

"No, don't be–"

"– but I have to, and it's not right, what you- your people are doing–"

"– God, I know–"

"– and mine are just so tired, I am too, we just can't keep going like this and I have to do what they say–"

"– I know–"

"– and it's not you, believe me, but–" Feliciano has to choke the words out around the thick lump built up in his throat- "– I _want_ to leave."

Ludwig sighs heavily- he sounds almost relieved. "So do I."

The two of them stay curled up around each other on the floor, because Ludwig cannot leave and Feliciano cannot stay and he wants to stay for Ludwig, but he wants to leave this horrible, breaking, losing war far away behind him. And hasn't he always been good at running? That thought makes him laugh a little, an odd sound from his throat, thick with tears as it is. "Suppose I've always been a fantastic coward–"

The intensity with which Ludwig says "No" startles Feliciano a little, and then more when he continues, "This- you- you are not a coward for- God, you're braver than I've ever been, you've actually got the guts to leave." He takes a deep, shaking breath. "Any sane person would leave if they could."

Feliciano rubs circles into Ludwig's back and doesn't know what to say, so he rests his head on Ludwig's shoulder and breathes out slowly. Ludwig speaks again after a few long moments. "How are you escaping?"

"Huh? Oh- oh, Alfred said he'd arrange a transport with Francis, he's getting good at keeping Henri down so he'll drive me south." Feliciano is pretty sure it'll work, because as far as Ludwig's government is concerned Francis is nearly nonexistent- Louis is amazing at covering for him anyway.

"You'll need an escort."

"No, Francis is really good at this–"

"To the contact point, I mean. One man from an- an enemy country–" Ludwig's voice falters momentarily, nearly unnoticeably- "–wandering around at night is suspicious. One man and an officer of the Wehrmacht isn't." He sighs again. "You're sure Francis can get you out?"

"He did it for Lovino two weeks ago. Everything went well."

Ludwig says "All right," but Feliciano gets the feeling it's more to himself than Feliciano. Then he shifts a little and pulls back so he's looking Feliciano in the eyes and smiles a smile that Feliciano can tell is forced, and softly says "We should probably finish dinner, you'll want a full stomach for the ride."

Feliciano nods and they slowly stand, hesitantly separating, and he drags his chair over so he can at least sit next to Ludwig while they eat the now-cold chicken. The two eat in silence, and their arms touch, and when they're finished Ludwig stacks the plates neatly and says "When do you have to go?"

"I–" Feliciano doesn't want to think about it, but "I think about eleven forty-five?" The clock says nine thirty, and if he wants to get there by eleven forty-five he'll have to leave at eleven, so- one hour, thirty minutes.

Is that really all the time he has?

One hour, thirty minutes left with Ludwig.

So what Feliciano does is help him with the washing-up, and make half-hearted chatter about anything that isn't the war, which is hard and has only been getting harder, and when the dishes are done Feliciano has one hour and twenty-one minutes left, and Ludwig asks if he wants to listen to anything, so Feliciano turns on the radio and with a lot of fiddling they locate a station that plays music that isn't Wagner, which probably means it's illegal, but Feliciano really can't bring himself to care as he hauls Ludwig off the couch and into something resembling a waltz.

It's not really dancing, not the type that Roderich and Erszébet can do, but with Feliciano's arm around Ludwig's waist and Ludwig's hand on Feliciano's shoulder and their spare hands joined as they spin slowly, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that they're close, Feliciano's head in the crook of Ludwig's neck, and they twirl gently and occasionally stumble over each others' feet. Eventually they slow and stop, and stand swaying in the small living room with one hour and nine minutes left, holding on to each other, and Ludwig breaks the silence with "Feli, the song's over."

"Oh, really- oh. Whoops," and Feliciano dips Ludwig to the best of his ability, which, granted, isn't much but Ludwig smiles- not the fake, stretched-thin one either, but a real one- and keeps them from falling over. Neither of them let go.

"Ludwig?"

"Yes?"

"I- I did mean it. About the leaving. I do want to, I mean, not you but kind of you? Your government. The war. You know."

"Yes." It's really kind of terrible, how easily Ludwig understands.

Feliciano knows what he's about to say is completely grasping at straws in the dark, but he says it anyway. "You know, I think we could probably get you out too. It'd be hard, but we could–"

"Feliciano, you know it wouldn't work." Ludwig looks far too old right now. "And I can't leave Gilbert."

And Feliciano won't leave Lovino, so here they are. He heaves a sigh and squeezes his arms around Ludwig again.

"It's just, I don't want to abandon you–"

"You're not." Huh? "I'll come back, when it's over. We did promise."

"Right." They had, too, and the Iron Cross still hangs on Feliciano's neck, and he will come back, win or lose. And he says so, and Ludwig smiles a little and kisses him. It's a good kiss, warm and undemanding, just there and soft and it makes Feliciano curl his fingers around Ludwig's and sigh because one hour, two minutes and return the kiss. At some point, Feliciano starts crying- just a little, a few tears and a little dampness because fifty-nine minutes and one of Ludwig's hands comes up and cradles his jaw and the side of his face, wipes some of the tears away and steadies him. The kisses continue, still soft and quiet and even tentative, and Feliciano brings one hand to rest at the back of Ludwig's neck just touching the short soft hair at the base of his head. There's a very odd sort of urgency in them, a slow kind, because they need to make these fifty-four minutes last as long as possible because Feliciano doesn't know how long they'll have to last them for, and the two are maneuvering in the vague direction of the bedroom, which is hard because walking and kissing at the same time is a very difficult thing to do.

Somehow, they manage. Feliciano pulls Ludwig down onto the bed and they keep kissing, sitting on the sheets, and at some point along the way they mutually decide that probably the clothes should come off and so he plucks at the buttons on Ludwig's shirt and Ludwig unknots Feliciano's tie and both their hands shake a little from nerves.

Once most of their clothes are off, Ludwig pulls away a little to get at the nightstand, and when he turns back around and sees the scars and bruises on Feliciano he slumps a little in the shoulders and Feliciano reaches out and lifts his face by the chin and whispers "it's okay" because that way he won't have to spend any of their next forty-three minutes looking at the burn scar down Ludwig's side or the scars along his body and they can just be like this, close and closer with Ludwig's breath in his ear, and just pretend that it'll all work out in the end.

When they make love, it's like their first time again, nervous hands and hesitant touches and Ludwig mumbling "is this okay", and Feliciano smiles and leans into his chest in response and keeps their slow, arrhythmic pace, legs wrapped around his waist. There's that slow urgency in every move, and quiet desperation in the way Feliciano's hands splay over Ludwig's shoulder blades and Ludwig's cling somewhere between Feliciano's hips and lower back and Feliciano almost doesn't think thirty minutes and instead groans against Ludwig's lips. The two keep shifting, Feliciano in Ludwig's lap, and he concentrates on how warm Ludwig is even though he's getting colder more, and how good he feels, and almost not on how, how close he is and how little time there is left. Instead Feliciano thinks of the crosses around their necks, and Ludwig's broad hands and the taste of his mouth and the soft, small noises he makes when Feliciano twists his hips down.

Twenty minutes, and they're both _so_ close, and Feliciano doesn't want to come at all, but with Ludwig's hand stroking him there's very little say in the matter. He's not exactly kissing Ludwig anymore, both their breaths are coming too short for that, but they're still so close to each other Feliciano can feel Ludwig's breath against his lips. And then Ludwig stills and gives a shuddering, strangled moan that could've been _Feli_ at some point, and then Feliciano follows him with nineteen minutes left and a shaky wordless noise.

He half-curls up in Ludwig's lap, and rests against him, sticky and warm and trying not to be sad, and sinks into Ludwig's breathing and the th-thump of his heart and the warmth of his arms. Ludwig breathes out slowly and Feliciano looks up at him- flushed, hair coming ungelled, handsome face tired and worn, and he wraps his arms around Ludwig and feels the tension and the scars and buries his face in his shoulder and doesn't move, doesn't let go.

Twelve minutes.

Neither of them speak. Feliciano inhales the smell of Ludwig- sweat and Feliciano, and beneath that paper and machinery, and beneath that soot and burning and things they don't speak of- and slowly, reluctantly unfolds. The two silently go through the motions they've come to know: put away the lubricant, throw out the condom, wipe off; and they dress in silence as well until Feliciano stands in civilian clothes facing Ludwig in officer's gray. Ludwig is still trying to slick back his hair, but it's stubborn and he just pulls his cap on and tugs at his gloves, and Feliciano pulls the suitcase he prepared out from under the bed with one minute left.

He breaks the silence. "Ready to go?"

Ludwig nods, and together they turn and leave the room and the apartment.

They manage to get to the contact point with relatively little complications- one police patrol nearly stopped them, but a few words from Ludwig sent them on- and Francis raises an eyebrow at them from the car.

"Hurry up, will you?" he hisses.

Feliciano nods, "One minute, please, big brother Francis," and then pulls Ludwig down for a kiss that he doesn't want to break, ever ever ever, but does, and then says "Don't get hurt, all right?"

Ludwig says, "I'll try. Keep safe," and Feliciano says he will, even though they both know neither of them can keep that promise, but there's the chance that the "I'll come back" he tells Ludwig as he climbs in beside Francis will come true, just maybe.

And it does.

* * *

Two years later, Feliciano is war-torn and exhausted and hungry, and then one day in June he finally gets clearance to talk to Ludwig. He's seen him before, but always with Alfred or Arthur or Francis, and he's worried himself sick because Ludwig is thin and pallid and stumbles and limps when he walks and his face is lined and pinched, and Feliciano hasn't heard him speak at all.

So it's a little after five PM when Feliciano goes to the hospital room they're keeping Ludwig in until he's healed- from what, Francis won't say, he just looks away sadly- and the soldier on duty unlatches the hastily-installed lock and nudges him inside and.

And.

Ludwig sits on the bed, looking smaller than Feliciano's ever seen him, and he jerks when the door slams and looks up and- God, he looks crushed.

Feliciano sits down next to him, and his throat closes up when Ludwig flinches away a little, and he reaches out a hand and takes Ludwig's cold palm in his.

"I tried to keep the other promise, but I couldn't," he says. "But I kept this one."

Ludwig nods- and shakes- and pulls Feliciano to him.

Eventually he cries, choking out _I knew, I knew and I didn't stop them and- and I- you should go, you should leave_ and Feliciano runs his fingers through Ludwig's brittle, unkempt hair and cries too, but he promised and he will not leave, not ever again.

* * *

More notes:

Henri is Vichy France and Louis is Île-de-France, the province containing Paris.

The Italians surrendered to the Allies on September 8th, 1943, and Italy was immediately occupied by the Germans.

OKW was the high command of the German armed forces.

The Nazis heavily monitored radio broadcasts, and you could only listen to approved stations and musicians, of which Wagner is the most well known.

The burn scar represents the firebombing of Hamburg in July of 1943.


End file.
